


choose (us or them)

by cqstiel (dcnovan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: :((, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Fix-It, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, hurt everyone tbh, idk what this even is i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcnovan/pseuds/cqstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Castiel stares at him with blank blue eyes, always a more stunning blue than Jimmy’s were, brought to life by the ancient, star-born being inside them. But now -- now they’re hard and cold and merciless, and Dean tells himself that it doesn’t hurt."</p><p>A different route that 8x17 could have taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	choose (us or them)

**Author's Note:**

> UN-BETA'ED I'M SORRY. This fic came outta nowhere and I had to do something about it… Apologies. Also, it's ridiculously sappy. I'm not joking. It's practically the moon, it's that cheesy. I'm kind of ashamed.

+

 

There’s blood running down his face in warm rivulets. He can taste it, metallic, on his tongue, feel it in the dip beneath his lower lip and in the crevice above his swollen-shut eye. He knows that his face has been reduced to a criss-cross network of red, black and blue, blood and bone and bruises. And still, Castiel keeps going, the crack of knuckle on cheekbone echoing throughout the crypt, Dean’s soft, low groan swallowed in a futile attempt of stoicism.

 

 _It doesn’t hurt it doesn’t hurt you need to get through to Cas it doesn’t hurt quit whining you_ know _what will happen if you let him..._

“Cas,” Dean grunts, one hand hovering like it wants to reach up and grab his stupid trench coat and hold it close. “Cas, _please_.”

 

Castiel stares at him with blank blue eyes, always a more stunning blue than Jimmy’s were, brought to life by the ancient, star-born being inside them. But now -- now they’re hard and cold and merciless, and Dean tells himself that it doesn’t hurt.

 

“Cas,” he manages again, though it comes out more of a pitiful whimper than anything else. His hand still hovers, held palm out. Castiel stares blankly at him, and Dean chokes down a sob, a tear trickling down his ruined flesh.

 

 _He’s an angel_ , Dean thinks in dismay as Castiel’s fist thwacks against his face again. It was easy enough to forget, really. Sometimes he just seems so human, brimming with emotion, but now--

 

“Please,” Dean says again, pathetic, desperate. “We’re family. We n-“ Dean’s sentence cuts itself off with a groan, as his mouth floods with scarlet and a tooth falls to the ground. The blood drips from his lips in long, sticky red, and a cut on his eyebrow begins bleeding against the crusted rust-colour around it.

 

**_< End this, Castiel.  >_ **

****

Dean gasps in surprise as Castiel’s warm, dry hand wraps around his throat and lifts his body into the air, pressing it against the wall in cool calculation. Dean wheezes and hits at Castiel’s arm futilely, but it’s like trying to dislodge a statue. He struggles to breathe, to escape, to get through to his friend by any means, but Castiel is unmoving and unemotional.

 

“Cas,” Dean chokes out again, his vision dancing with black spots, his head light. He can feel his body slowly going limp, his struggling limbs slowing. Cold, blue eyes continue watching his every move, but the tiniest flash of recognition is what Dean’s looking for, and it’s what he finds.

 

Heavy darkness begins to swallow everything Dean can see, but he painfully grates out what he hopes will bring Castiel back, back to him.

 

“I need you. I love you.”

 

+

 

_We’re family. I need you. I love you._

Castiel gasps as he tears himself away from Naomi, his hand around Dean’s throat, holding his limp body up off the ground. Dean’s eyes roll back and his last breath escapes him in a short, low whoosh.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel chokes out, wrenching his hand away and staring at it in horror as Dean slumps to the cold floor of the crypt, his head lolling back against the hard, stone wall. The angel falls to his knees beside Dean’s body, dropping his blade in fear as he takes Dean’s head in his hands.

 

“Dean!” he repeats forcefully, his vessel’s hands shaking, too human -- Naomi had something right. “Dean, please!” He presses a hand against Dean’s throat and the hunter draws in a ragged gasp, his body racked with dry coughs as he doubles over, the hand-shaped bruise on his neck fading away. He draws in rattly breaths as his good eye flickers open.

 

“Cas?” he manages, his voice rough and jagged, blood trickling into his mouth. He moans suddenly and doubles over, his pain coming back as the light-headedness leaves him.

 

Castiel can’t seem to speak. He fits a hand to Dean’s cheek; sweeps a thumb over the bone and the injuries vanish. Dean, though, is still folded in half, his breathing harsh and fast. He makes a half-hearted attempt to push himself away but finds only the wall behind him. He lets out a scared whimper, like he’s terrified that Castiel is going to hurt him again.

 

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel whispers, his hands finding Dean’s shoulders, his Grace throbbing with a pain like human heartbreak. “Dean, Dean.”

 

Dean’s eyes widen in recognition, and he tentatively reaches for Castiel’s coat, his hands fisting in the lapels. “It’s you,” he breathes, and Castiel pulls him close, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other tightly wrapped around his waist.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, his voice trembling. “Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry.” He closes his eyes against Dean’s hair, reaches with his Grace as a balm to Dean’s soul and presses his lips to Dean’s head.

 

If Dean notices, he doesn’t say anything. They sit together on the floor, their backs facing outwards into the darkness, the tablet lying forgotten.

 

“I really thought I was done for,” Dean says after a while, the hint of a melancholy chuckle in his voice. Castiel pulls back to look at him, cups his face again and Dean, for once, lets him. He strokes a thumb under Dean’s eye and it falls shut, Dean breathing out a sigh of relief, almost.

 

_Did you mean it?_

Instead, Castiel says, “I know,” and brushes his lips against Dean’s forehead, Dean’s lips, a silent promise of _never again_. Dean sobs as Castiel pulls away, and scrubs angrily at his eyes, his shoulders shaking, so Castiel kisses him again, tries to draw out the pain from Dean’s chest and take it for his own, suck the poison from Dean's wound and drink it himself. He shivers imperceptibly when he can taste blood on Dean’s lips, knowing that he put it there, and pulls Dean flush against him as the hunter’s body shudders and his arms wrap tightly around Castiel’s neck.

 

This is everything, Castiel realises. This is his choice. This is humanity.

 

This is love.

 

+

 

 


End file.
